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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26734399">I Wouldn't.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fauxilya/pseuds/fauxilya'>fauxilya</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Good Omens Fusion, Angel!Thomas, Angst, I wrote this at 3am plz have mercy, Kinda, M/M, They talk, basically just, demon!Alex - Freeform, not in that particular order, they drink, they fight, they sad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:01:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,931</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26734399</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fauxilya/pseuds/fauxilya</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The year's 1790. A very sad Angel is coming home. A certain Demon is very pissed.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson, Thomas Jefferson/Martha Wayles(past)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I Wouldn't.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The fic's more like platonic jamilton, but i eventually decided to post it so that it doesn't have to sit in my drafts forever. Happy reading!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1 class="page-title">I Wouldn’t.</h1><p></p><div class="page-body">
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">
    <strong>1790</strong>
  </p>
  <hr/>
  <p class="">Alexander dipped his quill into the ink, then set it on the parchment once more, relishing in the feel of its tip sliding against the texture as he tried to put down another sentence. <em>"</em><em>It is thereby of high probability that, upon consideration a-fore-mentioned, the federal government hath</em><em>-"</em> he paused there; an ugly ink blot soon appeared on the cream white surface. Alexander cursed as he crossed out the phrase he just wrote - every letter had seemed <em>so</em> wrong, and even more ridiculous when thrown together. And it was just the <em>beginning</em> of yet another of his run-on sentences that were usually expected to be a half page long.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">Also, <em>Alexander Hamilton</em> would've never crossed out a word that ran from his quill. <em>Never</em>.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">He leant back to inspect his work, which was light years away from completed, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. Alexander hissed out of habit as his gaze swept over his own rushed scripture, yellow eyes burning with shame behind his dark glasses. He spotted one, two, <em>three</em> spelling mistakes that a nine-year-old could have avoided(the day, if it was ever to come, that he spelt '<em>Pensylvania</em>' right, all three worlds would be wrecked with his brethrens' cheers as they crept up from the underground.)</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">The quill hit the wood of his writing desk with a <em>thud</em>. Alexander cursed again, this time in French. He rubbed his temple with two calloused fingers, then squeaked and pulled his hands away as he felt fire on his skin. Two tiny flames danced on his fingertips - they were never absent in his frustration.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class=""><em>Alexander Hamilton</em> would never have allowed himself to become so distracted that he messed up his work.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">He gripped either side of the parchment, lifted it over a scented candle, and chuckled in morbid pleasure as he watched the worst writing he had ever done in his life go up in flames.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">
    <em>Fucking Thomas Jefferson. He's going to pay.</em>
  </p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <hr/>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">Thomas Jefferson has no more wish other than to never, <em>never</em> go back to America, the place where he was forced to bury his dear Martha. He had been so entranced with the feeling of the <em>private</em> love, that he forgot that all humans would eventually be outlived, no matter how noble their character used to be, or how deeply they were loved by a principal Angel.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">He could have performed a healing miracle when she caught pneumonia; one was all that needed for Martha to stay. But <em>of course</em> Heaven had to forbid him from using his power <em>just</em> then, considering how he <em>wasted</em> too much of it on interfering with human affairs.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">Thomas didn't like to think of what happened in the end. He thought often of what could've happened, had he been a little more careful with his powers. Had he sought out another celestial being on this godforsaken planet and swallowed his pride to ask for help from his self-proclaimed nemesis.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">He immediately wished he could take that thought back. This planet was anything but godforsaken. As long as he knew, god's ineffable plan was still in place, which meant that the Armaggadon was only centuries from rolling by.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">These all added up to Thomas's bad mood; a word too light to describe his actual state of mind, but close. So it was perfectly understandable that the Angel got a little anxious when he spotted that letter on his kitchen counter.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">"Fuck," he muttered as he melted the wax holding the envelope together, allowing himself a glance at the content of the letter. A measly <em>human</em> had commanded him back to The United States, a nation to whose independence he made a great contribution, and one he certainly couldn't bear another thought about.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">That was, until something in the letter caught his attention.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">"...that the Treasury Secretary, Alexander Hamilton, hath been anticipating your reunion as well. It appeared to me that you must have made acquaintance at some point, because he seemed rather strong opinionated when I brought your appointment into mention."</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">
    <em>That bastard. He would sail home with the sole purpose of strangling him by hand.</em>
  </p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">Seriously, though, Thomas couldn't imagine letting a demon take dominance over a territory so large as the newly founded USA. If he wanted to be down here guarding over Martha's - may she Rest In Peace - poor, beautiful soul, he would have to do his job as well as he could manage.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">And to achieve that required him to head back—no matter to which extent he was willing—and clear a certain demon out of the union.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">
    <em>Hamilton, as it seemed, had never ceased making his life Hell.</em>
  </p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <hr/>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">Alexander had spent the past hour ranting out his mixture of emotions to his favorite potted plant.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">"I churned out 60,000 words in weeks, and I have an ETERNITY to live," the plant's lush green leaves trembled in fear, "surely you have every reason to GROW BETTER in your limited lifetime!"</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">(Of coursed Alexander would have counted the words in his own essay. Who wouldn't want to brag about it to their plants?)</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">He calmed a bit, took a big gulp from his cooled coffee, and went back to pacing around his office.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">A creak sounded from his door. Alexander whipped around, his face already twisted into a sneer.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">"Alexander, allow me to introduce-"</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">"Jefferson," Alexander seethed.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">"-Sir Henry Knox, Secretary of War." The tall human, Washington, led a stranger into the room. He shot Alexander a confused look. "Son, I'm afraid the State Secretary that you seemed to be so fixated with had already retired to his office. I suggest you not-"</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">Alexander was already brushing past the older men(actually way younger despite their appearance) and making his way down the hall.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">"-go disturb his rest after such a tiring journey." Washington called after the Demon, shook his head and smiled to himself, "young man. Always so eager."</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">The shorter, glassed man, Knox, in contrast, seemed completely baffled by the entire situation.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <hr/>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">"Jefferson, you-"</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">The Angel didn't even bother a glance at his rival as the red-head stormed into his office shouting still the top of his lungs. "If you are looking for trouble, good Sir, then I assure you that you are in the wrong place. Now, if you please, close the door on your way out of my private space."</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">"Quit the pleasantries, Jeffershit," Alexander scoffed, the door slammed shut behind him. "Now tell me what the fuck are you doing in MY COUNTRY?"</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">"Excuse you, <em>Hamilton, </em>it was <em>my</em> document that has led the Union to <em>Independence</em>, in case you forgot, " Thomas snapped, irritated, finally looking up from his book. "And you must be even denser than I thought if you think Heaven would be so foolish as to leave the States in the hands of a Demon running wild."</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">Alexander opened his mouth to retaliate, but then he made the mistake of looking at Jefferson. Like, <em>really</em> look at him. He couldn't blame himself; it had been decades since they last went face to face, a fleeting second for either but a long time nonetheless. He took in the Angel's pastel curls, ocean blue eyes that shone with wisdom, and his broad frame. An uncanny desire ached in his chest to sit back and listen to his counterpart’s voice all day—voice that was colored with a fashionable southern drawl, while appreciating the Angel's...well, <em>angelic</em> features.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">The subject of their argument suddenly seemed trivial.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">Jefferson raised a brow, obviously surprised with Hamilton's lack of response.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">"You owe me a drink still," Alexander blurted out, "you know, from Rome. "</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <hr/>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">That's why they ended up, three drinks later, in a local bar. Both got the permission to leave early from Washington, though it was not like either cared much about his orders.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">"You obnoxious little swine," Jefferson complained, with a drunken lilt to his voice. (The Angel was a lightweight; only Alexander knew that. And he never missed an opportunity to take advantage of his mortal enemy's low bearance of alcohol.) "After Martha...I swore to myself that I'd never come back again, y'know? But then you, you have to-" Hr hiccupped as he poured himself another drink, "have to be here. Can't you find better business than messin’ with men's money? I mean-"</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">"Martha?" Alexander pressed, sipping from his cup, curious.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">"My..." Jefferson frowned, shook his head to himself like he'd change his mind, before continuing on. "A mortal that I knew. Grew close with. Then she...left. Unimportant."</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">Jefferson closed his eyes as he downed another shot. Mixed feelings arose in Alexander as he came to realization what his century-long enemy had done. Judged by the pain in Jefferson's face, Martha had to be anything but unimportant to the Angel.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">"My god," Alexander drawled like a teenage girl first hearing of her friend's crush. "How come I did never get to meet this fair lady, as you said?"</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">If his heart died a little with the information, no one needed to know.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">Alexander wasn't jealous; that he knew for sure. It was just that, being the respective executives from Heaven and Hell, the two somehow had been stranded in this world together—which meant whatever the relationship they had was kind of exclusive, at least in men's world. To "grow close" with a third person—a mere mortal who had a bond in no ways as special as Alexander to Thomas's—was a giant damage to what they had, nevertheless inadvertent. And Alexander disliked someone else’s presence in their...relationship. Kinship. Enemy-ship. Whatever he couldn't put a label on.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">He broke the rules once, too; fell for his Eliza. But then he decided that she deserved more than an abrasive, hot-headed demon. Anyone deserved more than <em>Alexander. </em></p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">So he left.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">Alexander was furious; he couldn't fathom what this Martha girl could left Thomas, an Angel, the embodiment of love, for. Maybe she, too, felt like she didn't deserve him.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">He wasn’t jealous of this <em>Martha</em>. One hundred percent sure not. Alexander thought, gritting his teeth.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">"She's dead." Thomas choked out, whiskey hot against his throat.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">Dead? "Oh..."Alexander dug his brain for something to say. "I'm sorry. "</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">Thomas winced a little. His eyes glistened in the dim light, a silver sheen veiling the sorrow that reached into the depths of the blue. "No need. Mortals die all the time. They're like...sand in the hourglass. One sec' she's here, the next...she's not. It never lasts. They all leave in the end."</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">Memories took over him, like rubbing salt on a fresh wound. Thomas had stopped drinking at some point; the empty cup forgotten, he leant back in the booth in an attempt to conceal silent tears.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">"I wouldn't." The words slipped from Alexander's tongue.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">"What did you say?" Thomas raised his head and directed his look at Alexander, shocked.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">"I said," alcohol boosted his courage, "I wouldn't. I wouldn't leave you." Feeling the burning in his cheeks—a side effect of alcohol, sure—Alexander rushed to add. "I would follow you around for an eternity 'cuz I know it'll annoy you to no end."</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">Thomas stiffened. His eyes focused on Alexander, as if he'd just laid out god's ineffable plan. Then, coming to realization, a familiar smirk ghosted the corner of his lips. "Wow. Never pegged you to be so kind a demon."</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">"Go to hell." Alexander slurred, but reached over the table and interlaced their fingers nevertheless. "See? You are stuck with me. For an eternity."</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
  <p class="">He would <em>so</em> regret this when he was sober.</p>
  <p class=""> </p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for tolerating my terrible writing,, also English is not my mother language so sry for the errors<br/>As always, kudos &amp; comments are appreciated to no end!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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